


Exhaustion

by HolmesianDeduction



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Betting, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Making bets, Overworking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesianDeduction/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trouble with Combeferre and Enjolras isn't that they're bad for each other - just that sometimes they're good for each other in ways that makes Courfeyrac scratch his head, but he's not above finding the silver lining in his friends' hectic schedules.</p><p>[A piece written for an Anonymous fic exchange]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fourailes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourailes/gifts).



             The trouble with the two of them, Courfeyrac reflected as he leaned on the divide between the kitchen and the sitting room a now-lukewarm mug of hot cocoa in hand, was not that they were bad for each other. On the contrary, Combeferre and Enjolras were overwhelmingly good for each other as whatever it was that they were – Courfeyrac hadn’t yet found a word for it, and both of his friends declined to comment – they were fantastic for each other really. He had never seen anyone bring Enjolras’ energy and moods back down to manageable levels quite like Combeferre was capable of doing, and Enjolras had a knack for injecting energy into Combeferre when no one else could. Between the two of them, Courfeyrac had long decided that he simply couldn’t be happier with the arrangement, whatever it was.

             However, there was the one problem with the two of them – one which their friend had observed in action time and time again. This time it had been a project that they were planning to propose to the rest of the group on Monday; he had worked on it with them until he decided that sleep was actually going to be the better option for once – one of them should be well-rested at least, and it wasn’t going to be either of his compatriots. When he had awoken early the next morning, they had still been at it, flinging ideas back and forth.

             “I swear to god,” he had whispered into his phone, “if you leave them alone, they just work themselves to exhaustion.”

             “I thought you said they _kept_ each other from doing that?” Marius’ voice had been bleary on the other end, but waking up Marius was a lesser crime than disrupting Feuilly – the only person he knew would be up at such an early hour – in his morning routine.

             “Well yes,” Courfeyrac had sighed, running a hand through his hair, “but that only works if only _one_ of them is working! Otherwise they just sort of egg each other on!”

             “Oh.” There was a long silence and Courfeyrac was about to assume that Marius had fallen back asleep while on the phone when the other man whispered “What are they doing now?”

             Courfeyrac almost commented that he didn’t have to whisper but decided against it, instead peeking over the divider and making a face before ducking back down to lean over the countertop. “You’ll _never_ believe it,” he lowered his voice to match Marius’ whisper, a grin splitting his face.

             “C’mon Courf, just tell me.”

             “They’re basically propped up against each other trying to stay awake, I don’t know how they’re doing it!” There was a pause and he quickly filled it with “Wanna bet on who goes first?”

             “Courf, you _always_ win these bets,” then, as if he could somehow hear Courfeyrac’s pout, he sighed, “Okay fine. I have a fifty-fifty shot here. What are your terms?”

             Courfeyrac grinned. “How about, if you win, I take you for dinner – anywhere you want?”

             He could all but feel Marius’ eyes roll even as he smiled. “Yeah, okay, but what do you want if _you_ win?”

             “If _I_ win, you come over here – right now. It’s only fair that I have someone to curl up with too.”

             Marius paused, but then laughed, “Yeah okay. Fine. Deal.”

             Stifling his laughter, Courfeyrac peeked into the sitting room again. “I call Enjolras. He’s a sprinter, not a distance runner – he’ll never last once his energy goes.”

             There was another long pause as Marius frowned at the metaphor but then finally sighed. “Okay, but Combeferre might go out like a light once Enjolras starts to fade. I’m just saying.” Then: “What are they doing now?”

             “Enjolras has laid his head on ‘Ferre’s shoulder – they’re still talking though.” Courfeyrac shook his head, “I don’t get how they do that. You’re usually a goner once you’ve done that.”

             Marius snorted softly. “I doubt Enjolras would appreciate your comparison.”

             “Oh hush. _Oh_.”

             “What?”

             “’Ferre’s stroking his hair now. I don’t know anyone who can withstand that.”

             “Not everyone reacts like a cat though, Courf.”

             “Yeah but have you ever known anyone _more_ like a cat than Enjolras?”

             “Grant–”

             “Okay yeah but that’s R.” Glancing over again, he grimaced, “Oh _no_.”

             “What is it?”

             “’Ferre’s drooping a bit.” Marius laughed and Courfeyrac scrambled to cover the receiver, turning his back on the scene in the sitting room. “Shhhh!”

             “What?” Marius sounded far more awake now, and Courfeyrac could all but hear him grinning as he sat up in bed, the sheets gathered around his waist. “Scared that I’ll finally win one?”

             “Oh shut _up_ Marius,” he hissed in between stifling his laughter again. “I’m going to check on them again.” Turning, he stopped short. “Oh shit.”

             “What?” Marius’ voice turned worried in an instant.

             There was a long pause, and then simply “Check your messages.”

             Back at his flat, Marius watched as the message came through, then opened it to see a photo of Enjolras and Combeferre on the sitting room sofa, surrounded by books and piles of paperwork. Enjolras’ face was buried in Combeferre’s neck, his entire body turned in towards the other man; Combeferre was equally still, his face resting against the top of Enjolras’ head and the fingers of one hand curled gently in the swathe of blond hair that covered the nape of Enjolras’ neck. Both men were sound asleep.

             Finally, Marius brought the phone back up to his ear. “Call it a draw then?”

             “Deal.” Courfeyrac agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “We’ll do dinner Tuesday – you pick the place,” he grinned, “but first, you get out of bed and come over here.”

             “Fine, fine, have it your way, Courf.” Marius laughed as he hung up, slipping out of bed and looking for something comfortable to put on for the drive over.

             Putting his phone down, Courfeyrac poured the last, ice-cold dregs of his cocoa down the sink, and returned his gaze to his sleeping flatmates. On second thought, he admitted to himself, perhaps even this small trouble had its perks.


End file.
